


coloring outside the lines (of what we call love)

by haiikyuuns



Series: it has always been you [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Oops, Soulmates AU, This is purely self indulgent sorry, also sorry this is lowkey 10k of word vomit, but uhh it was getting long lmao, i actually had more in my head, slight mentions of kuroo/oc, slight mentions of underage drinking, sorry i have the vocab of a child, sorry if kenma is slightly ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26037076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haiikyuuns/pseuds/haiikyuuns
Summary: you became the book that I cannot put down. hanahaki au in which your world is in black and white until you kiss your soulmate. – kenma/oc
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Original Character(s), Kozume Kenma/Reader, Kozume Kenma/You
Series: it has always been you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889977
Comments: 17
Kudos: 129





	coloring outside the lines (of what we call love)

**Author's Note:**

> in which i try to write angst but i can't so here we are lmao. sorry if kenma is a little ooc. i tried my best. lowkey inspired by it's okay to not be okay ost, especially you're cold and little by little. 
> 
> in flower language, daffodils can mean unrequited love, you’re the only one, and the sun is always shining when I’m with you.

Your world has been black and white for as long as you remember. As a child, it didn't bother you too much that you can’t see in color. Sure, there are times when you wish you can see the colors of the sunset or twinkling stars at night, but you reckon that there are worse things out there than being unable to see in colors. As you grow older, you become more and more exposed to people who can see in color. The words in the books you read about how red is the color of passion and love, the blue of the trust and sadness, the yellow of happiness and warmth; the description of the burst of iridescent shades in movies as the main characters kissed; the sparkling softness in your sister’s eyes as she reaches to lace her fingers with her lover; the colorful vitality of everyday life.

You become interested in finding out how it feels because you want to experience all the world has to offer. If you’re being honest, a kiss or two seems less important in the grand scheme of things if you can just _live_. Needless to say, you’ve kissed a lot of people throughout the years.

It becomes almost an obsession, you think, as you begin your second year of high school. You’ve kissed people in hopes that they will change the color of your world, but no one ever does. But this doesn’t stop you from trying, from living your life to the fullest in black and white. Of course, this comes with a poor reputation, but you don’t particularly mind because you are you through and through.

But words don’t come without repercussions, and it becomes a little difficult to be unbreakable under accumulating venom. No one can tell you who to be, you’d like to think, but as you begin putting layers upon layers of makeup on your face, you begin to think this is the role you have created for yourself. No one can break you now, you think, as you hide behind a mask of confidence and boldness, shamelessly trying to feel alive.

Naturally, the world is against you because you meet Kozume Kenma. He is your seatmate in class, and if he had heard the rumors about your loose reputation, he doesn’t seem to care as he spends all his time hiding behind his hair, eyes never leaving his games. He is interesting, you think, because he is living his life without succumbing to living in a role. He is just doing his own thing, and granted, he doesn't really interact much with anyone or anything, but that's kind of nice. You’re a little envious if you’re honest, but you’re not, so you continue to steal glances at him unknowingly.

You realize quite early on that you are either not as discreet as you think you are or your seatmate is incredibly observant by the smallest movements of his face. He never really addresses your wandering eyes until you blatantly stare at him one day, chin resting on your hand.

“Why have you been looking at me?” he questions, voice slightly miffed but bashful.

“Because you’re interesting,” you respond honestly, not sensing any point in hiding.

His puzzled cat-like eyes meet yours for the first time, and you smile.

* * *

What surprises you the most about your new seatmate is that he is in the volleyball club, and he is pretty good at the game too. He is good at observing and avoiding people, you think, as you learn more about him through the flicks of his eyes and the movements of his face. It doesn’t come as a surprise to you that he is the most calculating member of the team because he’s good at all games. When you see him run and become so alive in his match against the enemy team in black and a warm, light color, you find yourself thinking he is more interesting than your initial expectations. When you hear him yell for the first time, you are kind of amazed that he can break character too. It makes him seem more human, and it’s kind of nice to see him so animated and real.

If his contradictory character trait is his low-energy self being in such an active sport, you’d think yours would be that you like to read. It doesn’t matter if they are books, light novels, manga, anything, you just like getting lost in another world, where there are colors to describe life and people who have ambitions and dreams. You like being able to be anyone but you, and it’s fun learning and living through the eyes of someone so different from you.

They always find a satisfactory ending, and that’s all you can ask for in a story, all you’ve ever wanted in life.

You do not see the curiosity and interest in his eyes as you focus on the story in front of you.

* * *

“Pudding Head-kun!” you call out to the blond as you spot his retreating back in the middle of Akihabara. You once heard his older friend – Kuroo, if you remember right – call him this, and it made you laugh seeing how he reacted to it.

As he turns around, you can see him scrunching his face in a mixture of disgust and annoyance, just like how you remembered the first time you heard his friend call him that. You laugh wholeheartedly because you can visibly see his emotions on his face, and it feels kind of nice because he is surprisingly very upfront about his emotions.

The larger part of you thought he would see you and continue to walk away, but he stays still as you jog up to him, though the look of annoyance never leaves his face. You laugh again whenever you see it close up because it’s honestly a little amusing to see such obvious emotion in contrast to his normally collected face.

“I have a name,” he grumbles under his breath, lightly disdaining your naming choice.

You aren’t sure if you are meant to hear that, but you grin anyway. “I’m aware. Do you not like being called Pudding Head?”

He mumbles something about it being bad enough that two people already call him this, and he doesn’t need a third.

You giggle in amusement. “I think it’s kinda cute, but okay, Kenma it is.”

You can’t tell if the darkened color on his cheeks is from being called cute or his name.

“Well, I need help,” you admit sincerely, and he looks at you like you have grown a second head.

“With what?” he asks skeptically. The two of you have never talked since your initial conversation.

“I am on an errand for my little sister to buy this new animal game that came out? But I’ve never been here before, and honestly, I don’t really know what I’m looking for.” You shrug your shoulders.

He searches your form to see if he can find any hint of hesitance, deception, and when he finds that you have neither, he nods and the furrows of his brows become undone. A small smile breaks on his face at the mention of a game, and he begins to talk to you.

“It’s called Animal Crossing,” he talks rather animatedly, eyes less guarded than before.

“Great!” you answer his energy with enthusiasm, “Where can I find it?”

He tries to direct you to his favorite video game store – because that store has never failed him before! – but you are only getting confused because your only downfall is that you inherited your family curse of being directionally challenged. Your eyebrows scrunch up and your lips jut out in a pout before you grab his hand and just tell him to lead you there.

He stills at your sudden touch, but he slowly agrees as he realizes your confusion. When your face lights up to smile, you find the corners of his mouth upturned and his eyes glimmered with amusement.

* * *

“Kenma!” you complain, “This is urgent!! What are the turnip prices on your island?!”

He glances up from his game for a split moment to see your pouting face, and he checks and tells you it’s currently at around 100 Bells.

“600 Bells!! I need it to be 600 Bells! Turnip prices suck right now!” you whine as your empty lunch boxes are pushed to the side.

He raises an eyebrow at your outburst. “Did you need Bells for something?”

“I wanted to upgrade my island, but like everything is so stupidly expensive,” you sigh as you put your head down on the table. You originally bought this game for your little sister, but seeing how much fun she was having with it, you ended up buying a copy for yourself too. Now here you are, banging your head in irritation because you are becoming unexpectedly invested in this game.

He lets out a low hum in agreement before he turns back to his game.

The next morning, you find yourself with two new mail from Kenma, one with one million Bells attached, and another with a specially bred flower that oddly reminds you of daffodils.

* * *

“Kenma!” you grab the strap of his backpack as he heads out after class, jerking him back a little. “Can I come over after practice?”

“Huh.” It sounds more like a statement than a question.

“I need help with collecting materials!! I need to lure Raymond into my village!” you exclaim.

Seeing how it is game-related and he is running slightly late to practice, he agrees. You don’t know if he’s agreeing because he just wants you to get off his back or if he genuinely doesn’t mind, but if the school’s best gamer is willing to help you out, you’re not complaining. 

“Great, I’ll wait for you by the gates after practice then!” You wave as he walks out. You see his subtle nod before you turn on your game. 

When the sun sets, you turn off your game and begin walking to the gates to wait for Kenma to finish. With so much time spent on your new baby, your island on Animal Crossing, with Kenma, you almost forget the look of judgmental eyes. Some girls you walk pass talk loudly amongst themselves regarding your flamboyant appearance and your long history of kissing boys. You shrug it off because you know they are irrelevant, but somehow the weight of their words falls heavy in your heart.

You hear the sound of footsteps, and you turn around assuming it is Kenma. It isn’t, and you are now faced with a third-year student, you guess from the color of his tie, looking slightly nervous.

He is tense, and he is actively avoiding your eyes. You know by heart how these scenarios usually play out, and you sigh softly because, to be honest, Animal Crossing materials matter more to you than finding love at the moment. You don’t really want to kiss him, so you unconsciously play with the hem of your uniform as you hesitate. But when anyone gathers up the courage to find you for a kiss, you can’t help but want to help. He is easy on the eyes enough, so if he is your soulmate, you wouldn’t really mind.

Cat-like eyes and scrunched up brows flash in your mind before you tiptoe and kiss the stranger. You feel his warm lips on yours, and when you open your eyes, everything is still in black and white.

“Sorry, buddy, looks like I’m not the one,” you half-heartedly apologize, feeling conflicted inside your heart.

You watch him sigh as he leaves, and when you turn around again, you see Kenma behind you. You can still smell the soft scent of his body wash and see the small droplets of water dripping in his hair and his POP on top of a poorly folded uniform inside his unzipped bag. 

“Oh my god,” you exclaim, hand over your heart, “You scared the living shit out of me.”

“You didn’t have to kiss him if you didn’t want to,” he mumbles softly, eyes looking straight at yours before he looks away to take his POP out of his bag.

“One more or less kiss won’t make a difference,” you shrug and brush it off, feeling a little exposed that he picks up on your thoughts like he can see through you. “Do you think I’m a loose woman?” you ask as the whispers in the halls come back to you.

“I don’t really know, and I don’t really care,” he admits before seeing your averted, downcast eyes. “You’re fine as you are,” he adds gently after.

Funny how you feel like you can breathe a little easier after hearing these words from Kenma.

“Where’s Kuroo-senpai?” you ask to redirect the conversation, steering it in a territory that is less intimate, more comfortable.

“Still cleaning up,” he says with his face twisting into a snicker. You find that he is most childish when it comes to his childhood friend.

“Kenma, you’re scary,” you laugh at his expression before he stares at you with disbelief in his eyes.

“What?” he blurts out. “Good luck getting those materials.”

“Drama queen,” you roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at him before you laugh and head out.

“My house is the other way…” he reveals with something akin to laughter in his voice after you already walk out the gate.

You hmph dramatically, and the weight of pointless gossip and judgmental eyes feel lighter.

* * *

You aren’t sure when, but you’ve become more and more attached to Kenma. He is kind of refreshing to be around, to be honest. After all, he doesn’t care about your reputation or your façade because he just sees right through you. You don’t have to be the you who is brave and confident and fearless, and you can just be the you who is curious and ambitious and alive. Maybe because you’re almost always honest with him, mostly because you rather tell him and inflict the damage yourself rather than him just knowing but never saying anything, that he doesn’t mind your presence either.

You begin breaking lines and boundaries by inserting yourself into his life, and for someone who doesn’t like to stand out, you’re grateful that he lets you, someone who does, in, albeit slowly but never unwelcoming. You’re not sure why he accepts you by his side the way he does, but within the walls of his room, the scent of his laundry detergent, of daffodils and sunshine on a light spring day, it reminds you of simpler days and silent happiness. The two of you can fall into silence and breathe readily and freely.

This is becoming a sort of a comforting routine, you realize, as you lay your head in his lap, reading a novel on your phone as he plays on his POP. The silence never bothers you, and it gives you a sense of contentment to be here, with him, as you hear the soft background music and sound effects from his game. You hum along with the soft music of his island tune, and you catch the subtle movement of his light-colored eyes flicker to yours. For a moment, your eyes meet, and you let out a smile. He blinks twice before his shy smile meets yours. Inside his room, next to him, you don’t have to wear your masks to face the world. The layers of makeup you apply on each day to be someone, to be anyone, doesn’t have any role here because he just sees right through you. You are seventeen without a care in the world. Your world may still be in black and white, and you’re not sure what love is, but this is enough.

* * *

It isn’t.

Autumn quickly blurs into winter as the leaves become darker and darker before they fall slowly into piles alongside the road to his house. As you two make your way through the roads, you jump eagerly into the messy piles with the wind in your dyed hair. Almost as quickly as you jump into the pile, you hop back up to the elevated curb of the road, hands out to balance yourself as you walk one foot in front of the other. He opts for walking alongside you, quietly with his phone in hand, eyes almost squinting angrily as he grumbles weakly about the game's poor quality, lack of sources, and something about the boss. You’ve always wondered how he manages to multitask like this, to play games, and walk home without running into anyone as you try to observe him discreetly. Suddenly, your eyes end up on his hands, and you wonder how it would feel like to hold them. You begin to think about how nice it would feel to be the one he’s holding instead of his games.

As if the world is against your thoughts, the wind blows abruptly. You laugh loudly in irony as the wind ruffles your hair and tickles your face, and you are almost thankful for it breaking you out of a moment when your mind is beginning to wander into dangerous territory.

Your sudden laughter catches Kenma’s attention. As you tuck a strand of hair behind your ears, you catch Kenma’s cat-like light eyes on you with a glint of amusement and something else you’re not quite sure you want to know. Your heart thumps aloud once, twice, but you throw your hand up to flash him a peace sign and smile cheerfully at him. You try not to think about how the sun is setting, and although you cannot see the exact colors, it leaves a ring of light around him. He looks so soft, so beautiful, and it leaves you almost breathless. When he holds out his hand to you as the curb ends, you take it with a grateful smile before you hop off the elevated surface, trying to ignore how your betraying heart beats rapidly despite telling yourself that you are content with where you are now.

You try not to think about how it feels to hold his hand – slightly rough and calloused from volleyball practice. His touch is so gentle like he’s holding something fragile, breakable, valuable, with care. You try not to think about how your hand fits perfectly into his.

But you can’t. When his hand is on yours, you feel so elated and you don’t want to let go. You’re almost sure he can hear the rapid pulsing of your stupid heart as you continue to hold onto his hand long after you hop off the ledge. You’re also not sure if he minds that your hand is still in his, but you’ve gotten greedy. If he hears your rapidly beating heart or minds your lingering hand on his, he doesn’t make any indications of it as he continues to play his game on one hand. When you arrive at his house, he lets go of your hand to find his keys in his bag, and your hands feel so empty and cold without his.

With Kenma, you can never really hide your thoughts. He is just so incredibly perceptive that he probably figures you out before you say anything, and sometimes you’re thankful that he can see right through your façade. During times like this, you’re a little more unappreciative of the fact that he is so keen on your feelings. Thus, you know you can’t really ever hide anything from him – he may not admit it and he definitely won’t pry into it, but he knows, and you know that he knows. So, you always choose the direct route with him. Always honest, or as much as you can, because he sees right through you and because you know his mind is always on overdrive – thinking and thinking and thinking – and you know it wears him out.

“I think I like you,” you admit to him as the two of you sit side-by-side on the foot of his bed. He looks up from his game to look at you, and you meet his eyes head-on.

You can tell he is still processing the information in his mind – he’s thinking and thinking and thinking. His mouth opens to say something, but you cut him off quickly because you know what he is about to say, “I just wanted to say it. It doesn’t change anything, okay?”

You know that he is content with where you guys are, that he likes this space you two created for yourselves. You know he is fond of you to a point because he never does anything he's uninterested in, but it’s not the love you feel for him, not the love you crave from him.

He eyes you cautiously before he hesitantly nods.

“Okay,” you nod and smile weakly as you stand up quickly, “Time for me to go home.”

He gets up to walk you to the door, and you get up to follow him. The thought of soulmates and seeing the world in color hits you like a storm when your eyes briefly glimpse over his lips, and you bite your lips to distract yourself from the thought. But you’re already here, you thought to yourself, and you want more.

“Kenma,” you call out to him, reluctant hands grabbing the ends of his sweater, “Promise you won’t be mad?”

He looks back, and his eyes soften as if he feels your hesitance. “Sure.”

You grab both sides of his face before crashing your lips into his in a swift motion as if there’s no tomorrow, as if time will continue to flow by if you don’t forcefully stop it at the moment. You’re fairly sure you miss his lips by just a margin, but you still feel his lips on the corner of yours. The moment your lips touch, your heart soars and you feel so dizzy. It feels like an electric shock thundering in your heart, reverberating through your soul, and you don’t want this to end. But you feel his unmoving lips and tense body, and you know this is wrong.

You pull yourself away, and when you open your eyes, your head is dazed. His doorway feels so small all of the sudden, and as you look up to apologize to him, you see the midnight blue darkness of the night sky, the yellow sparkles of the twinkling stars, and his golden cat-like eyes. Your mouth drops, and you suddenly feel so sick.

“Sorry,” you apologize, words almost inaudible as you try to catch your breath, as you try to intake the colors around you, as you see the confusion in his eyes. When you see him dubiously nod as to accept your apology, you take this chance where he’s thinking too hard to form words to dash through the door because there is too much to process in your mind.

When you reach your home, you are glad that no one is home yet. Your parents are on an overseas trip to celebrate their anniversary, your older sister is still at her college dorm for the week, and your little sister took this chance to sleepover at her friend’s house. As you stomp through the house and run into your room, you throw your bag into the ground and yourself onto the bed, tears threatening to fall. You let out soundless sobs as you can now see the pastel pinks of your room, the slightly fading blues in the old pictures and the vibrant reds in the new polaroids, rich yellows of the stars that remind you of his eyes, almost as if it’s twinkling in disappointment.

Tonight, you confirm that he is your soulmate, but he doesn’t love you, not the way you love him. As you think of this, a pain gnaws in your heart and a slow burn stings in your lungs. When you can’t contain the twisted feeling inside you anymore, you found yourself throwing up only to see yellow daffodil petals on the ground. You bring your hands to cover your mouth in horror – oh, oh, he does not love you.

As you stare mindlessly at the petals on the floor, the dam that holds back all your tears break, and the tears flood down your cheeks. He absolutely cannot know of this. Tomorrow, you tell yourself, you need to pull it together and go on like before. You want to remain beside him because even though he does not love you the way you love him, you covet to be in his presence. You’ll be okay, you tell yourself, you’ll be okay. But tonight, you can break, break, break, you tell yourself, only tonight.

* * *

The next few days go by in a blur. Living in color is everything you’ve ever dreamt of, but now that you see the world in color, it doesn’t shine and sparkle the way you think it would. Instead, you are constantly reminded that there is a squeezing pain in your heart and a crushing discomfort in your lungs. You are born an actress though, and you’d like to think you’re doing a pretty good job of living a role where you are just his friend and not heartbroken. You still eat lunch together, play games, and spend time in silence together, but lunch seems a little longer and the silence seems a little more stifling now. You are slowly withdrawing from him with little excuses here and there because it feels so right when you’re with him, but the constant, dull anguish in your heart and lungs hurts and hurts, and sometimes you know you cannot hide it as well as you think. You’re positive he knows this because you see the questioning hesitance in his eyes like he wants to say something. But he doesn’t question it, probably more for your sake than his, and you are grateful he is never the one to push.

You don’t want to see the discomfort in his eyes when he looks at you like he’s sorry he doesn’t love you, so you spend the rest of winter kissing boys (and the occasional girl) left and right, looking for something, someone to dye you in a different color. Nothing ever sparks the way it did when you kissed Kenma, you know this, but you’re still searching and searching because you don’t want to feel this when he is the one who makes you feel so happy.

You realize that this doesn’t have any effect as the petals keep piling up at night when your heart aches for a love that does not exist.

* * *

Spring comes and goes with the blink of an eye because you throw yourself into things that do not involve Kenma. You begin running a lot more often, just to feel the adrenaline in your veins, the burning of your lungs in a way that doesn’t involve the flower blooming there, and you finally agree to model your little sister’s cosplays. She is so excited to be working on them, to sew them, to see her favorite characters come to life. You are just counting on the fact that you get to paint your face and hide who you are behind the mask of whoever she wants you to be for the day. You see Kenma less and less, and you think that this is a good thing because you don’t think you can handle seeing that look in his eyes.

That’s hardly effective when your eyes always subconsciously look for him, and even when you close your eyes, you still think of him, you still see him. The one who loves more hurts more, you thought bitterly.

By the time you graduate, you two are almost like strangers again. After your graduation ceremony, you see him with his volleyball teammates. You see Kuroo-senpai and your older sister come together and only separate to congratulate the two of you individually. You see the questioning look in their eyes, and you just press on with a smile before you brush it off.

Today is supposed to be a joyful day, but sometimes all the energy here just makes you feel a little more suffocated. You can smile all you want, but you are so tired. Going up the footsteps of the emptying school, you find yourself in your classroom. You look around and take everything in for the last time before settling in front of the opened window, gazing out at the bright hues of red, orange, and yellow blending as the sun sets. It almost brings tears to your eyes because you see Kenma everywhere here. Just as you think of him, you hear the door slide open behind you and the soft footsteps stop when you see him in your peripheral vision.

The silence that follows is calm, serene almost, if it isn’t for the fact that your heart is pounding in your ears, and there is so much and yet nothing you want to tell him. There are so many things you want to talk to him about because he was your best confidant, but you find it too difficult to be in the same spot that you were content with before. But that is on you, and he did nothing wrong. There are many more happy memories compared to the nights of tears and blooming flowers threatening to spill from your lungs, so the words that roll off your lips become clear.

“Thank you,” you voice softly without looking away from the setting sun.

“For what?” he questions, and you can feel his eyes on you, studying you.

The gentle spring winds blow softly, carrying bits and pieces of cherry blossoms along through the window, signaling that this is like the last chapter, the end of a sad story.

“For letting me love you,” you whisper faintly, the wind almost drowning out your voice before you turn to him for a final time and look at him. You smile subtly because he is still the same as you remembered. He is slightly taller and his black roots peek through his long blond hair now, but he is still the same – golden eyes analytical, level headed, but so, so expressive in his emotions.

You poke his forehead to placid the creases between his brows as you laugh, “Goodbye.”

You leave without looking back, but your heart stills in his time.

* * *

You adopt a cat unplanned during your first week of university. Your roommate volunteers at the local animal shelter, and although the two of you are still fairly new friends, she asks you to help at the shelter for the weekend since one of the workers called in sick. You agree because you think it could be a nice distraction.

The first cat that catches your eye is the small calico in the corner of the room. When you meet the cat's golden eyes for the first time, your breath hitch because it reminds you so much of the boy you try so hard to forget. The owner tells you he is the runt of the litter, but he survived the harsh biting cold before being found. A survivor, you think to yourself, that's who you want to be, so you end up signing the adoption papers the very same day. 

You name your new cat Kenken. Your roommate jokes and asks if you named it after anyone in particular because that's such a human name. You deny this and try to laugh it off because you would rather die than admit that you can still think of one person and one person only.

That night, you look Kenma up and find that he is a fairly popular streamer. You are not surprised because he has a very calming voice and his strategic gameplay is very mesmerizing. You know this is a bad idea because you are trying to forget him, but you can't bring yourself to tear away from his stream, to look at him play games through the screen like he did next to you before. 

The initial petals become half flowers. It incinerates your lungs every night, but there's a somewhat comforting factor in listening to his voice as you hug your new cat, as you bury your tears in his fur. 

* * *

You still go on runs in the morning before class - because you're a runner and you need to keep in shape to keep running away from your problems - and you devote your time to taking care of Kenken. You quickly fall in love with Kenken because he's just adorable. He loves curling up in your lap as you do homework or watch a movie, and it strangely reminds of the times you spent in comfortable silence with his namesake. 

But sometimes you get lonely. Sometimes your heart feels a little extra empty and your lungs scald a little extra hot, so on nights like these, you end up hitting whatever party is going on with your roommate. You two are similar in that you both are more broken than you'd like to let on. You love to dress a little extra provocative and doll yourself up to be irresistible because you need someone to hold you for the night thinking you are charming and not half broken on the inside. You just want to go home with someone, to feel someone next to you. You often do end up going home with some boy whose name you'd long forget when morning hits, and even if it's temporary, even if it doesn't fill your heart, at least someone is there to need you, to want you.

* * *

You aren’t expecting to see him at your sister’s birthday party. In hindsight, you probably should have seen it coming since Kuroo-senpai planned it. You occasionally see his and your sister’s matching grins and nudging elbows, but you choose to smile and pretend like you do not see their matchmaking efforts. You watch him at first – he is a little different now, no longer hiding behind his hair as he pulls it into a low bun, with more confidence and purpose in his strides. You suppose this comes with being a pro-gamer, streamer, and having his own clothing brand. You almost feel ashamed in comparison because you still feel like the same girl who pines after quiet moments and soft brushes of hands and interlocking eyes from a year ago.

Of course, he easily catches your eyes when you watch him like always, and you tear your eyes away from his, not ready to face him, not ready to be seen through, not ready to be you.

When you feel your contempt for yourself, you grab a random shot being passed around and gulp it down. The alcohol burns down your throat, and you hate the taste of it. But this physical burning sensation down your throat feels much better compared to your self-pity and the drop of your stomach before you throw up petals upon petals every night. You take another shot when you feel like this, and before long, you are tipsy and the world around you is spinning.

You find an arm holding you up as you wobble to find the nearest seat. You turn to thank whoever is holding you up before the scent of light, cool, spring-like detergent hits your nose. 

You rip your arm away from Kenma as you glare daggers at him.

“Thanks,” you gripe bitterly before you turn to leave. Maybe some fresh air will be better, you think, as you stumble outside.

He follows you. You’re not sure if he’s there to make sure you’re okay or if he’s there to continue the conversation you purposely keep avoiding. You know the former is more likely, but in your head, the latter keeps on coming back to your mind. 

“Here, drink some water.” He offers you a cup of water with concerned eyes.

You want to slap the cup out of his hand because how dare he be nice to you when he hurt you all these years. How dare he have the audacity to walk back into your life like this. How dare he!

You’re always more honest when drunk.

“I don’t want to see you,” you explode, angry thoughts in your head. You’re not being rational right now, but all the emotions inside you for the past year feel like they are about to burst.

But your actions are contradictory as you close the gap between the two of you, storming your way there like your emotions are about to burst into a windstorm, ignoring the water in his hands and the tenseness in his eyes. He freezes as you begin breathing heavily, breaths hot and furious, when you are in front of him.

“Kenma, I love you. I’ve loved you since we were seventeen.”

Your emotions are leaking slowly through the cracks of your mask before it floods all at once.

“For a long time now, even without me knowing, you’ve colored my world. You gave me colors; you gave me flowers, and they are so beautiful. But I can’t fucking breathe.”

You begin ranting, speech slightly slurred, thoughts somewhat blurred but emotions never clouded, as the alcohol hits you. You jab a finger in his chest with every word as you continue.

“Even your smallest expressions make my heart flutter, and when I hear your voice, my breathing becomes quicker and quicker and it _burns_. The one who loves more hurts more, and maybe it hurts so much because I always somehow end up looking for you, looking at you. And I want you so, so badly.” 

You cry out. Jabbing fingers becomes pounding fists on his chest. He rips the words right out of your throat and finally tears off the façade you try so hard to hide behind.

His golden eyes widen as you break in front of him, as he interprets your confession, and he stills for a moment. He lets you continue hitting him for a bit. He is still holding the water, you thought amusingly, as you see the water shaking and threatening to spill with each hit. You know when he stills, he is thinking of what to do next. Good, you think to yourself, that part of him hasn’t changed.

The running coward in you hasn’t either, so you turn to run.

He grabs your hand roughly before you can take off. “Will you please listen to me for once?” he sighs in frustration.

“No!” you yell out. You know you are being difficult, but you are so, so angry. You are not done hurting yet, and you want to break his low-energy mask because he is breaking your disguise. 

“Because I know you don’t love me. Not in the way that I love you. I want it to be okay, but it’s like even though I know you’re a book with a sad ending, I just can’t put you down. Realistically, if the book’s ending was sad, I wouldn’t even read it – but strangely, I keep opening you up, page by page. I’ve fallen deeply as I read into you. Then suddenly, I find myself crying so hard that I can’t breathe because I just can’t close this goddamn book. After all, it is your story.”

“Listen to me,” he growls fiercely. “You always, always walk out after you say your piece without listening to mine!"

“I thought you were my soulmate!” you screech, ignoring him, ignoring his pleas because you are still on a high of emotions.

“I still am!” he yells, voice louder than you’ve heard in a long time.

Oh, he’s breaking too, you think to yourself. Maybe you aren’t the only one who is being riled up and thrown out into the open. You try to keep your face as neutral as you can when your eyes meet his because you are afraid that he can still see through you as he did all those years ago, like he can see your quivering heart and scorching lungs. As he searches your eyes, you realize that he still can. He sees the pieces of your broken heart and he sees who you are.

“I’m not good with words,” he admits, “And I’m not good at love.”

“I know,” you grumble under your breath, knowing he can hear it.

“But you’ve also colored my skies, and the sun is always shining when I’m with you. I may not have loved you the way you loved me then because I don’t know how to fall madly in love. I love you in the only way I know how – quietly, fondly, like you’re the main character in my world. It doesn’t have to be a sad ending!” he blares out angrily and awkwardly, the nuances of his voice rising and falling, like he’s heatedly admitting his thoughts for the first time.

Just like that, the pain in your heart dissipates little by little and the burn in your lungs soothes out petal by petal. Your time that stilled at eighteen in your high school classroom begins to tick, moving slowly but surely, in this raw moment. You are in tears and your heart stings, but surprisingly, you don’t feel the acrid burning of your lungs.

You are so incredibly frustrated because you’ve spent all this time just suffering, and it only takes three sentences from him to make you feel better. Both of you can only stare at each other as you gasp for air and catch your breath from baring your souls, from letting the dam on your emotions break, and you don’t know how to continue from here so you laugh. Laughing at the irony of all this, laughing at the way you two still fall into peace after all this, laughing at how stupid feelings are.

It isn’t until he begins to wipe your tears with the ends of his hoodie sleeve that you realize you are crying. You sob for all the time you felt so alone, for all the nights you coughed up petal upon petal until almost full flowers fell, for how much you still love his stupid self after all these years.

“I’m… sorry,” he apologizes, candidly and genuinely. The pitying eyes you used to fear become eyes of sorrow, and you reach to hold his face.

“Stop.” You slap his face with a hand on each side. “Don’t apologize. Just… just stay.” You lean your forehead on his shoulders and breathe in the homey scent of his laundry detergent. You feel so at peace like you always do when you’re with him, and you close your stinging eyes for a moment. You open your eyes as he clumsily wraps his arms around you, and as you relax into his body, you see that he’s still holding onto the water, now calm and even. This brings a smile to your face because he’s still so awkward and adorable. After a while, he rests his cheek on your head.

The two of you remain in position, to unwind and rest, after unraveling and baring the self you try so desperately to hide. The moment is tender, comforting, and while it’s not okay yet, you think to yourself, it is a lot easier to breathe now.

It’ll be okay one day, you think, as you wrap your arms around him for the first time in years.

* * *

You jolt awake when you hear Kenma’s alarm go off. You know by heart now that Kenma sleeps at strange hours and wakes later than you do. You pick up your phone to look at the time only to find your phone dead, and you panic a little. Once again, you fell asleep in his kotatsu because it was just so comfortable, and you forgot to charge your phone beforehand. 

You look up to see that Kenma’s hand is aimlessly grabbing his phone. It warms your heart a little that even though he has a nice and comfortable bed, he chooses to sleep in the kotatsu whenever you are over. When he finally grabs it and silences his alarm, you see the time flash on his phone screen. It is almost noon, and you slept in way more than you should. You aren't even concerned about missing your morning run, but you are concerned about poor Kenken missing his breakfast. 

Seeing how he isn't fully awake yet, you try to quietly grab your things and leave. You are in his doorway putting on your heels from last night when you see him leaning on the wall.

"Where are you going?" he asks softly, voice still groggy and slightly raw from the lack of usage.

"It's time for me to go home," you reply, your voice slightly rushed.

"The last time you said that you ended up leaving for 2 years," he mutters.

You can only stare at him dumbfounded, mouth drop into a small 'o' when you hear him and see the poorly masked heartache in his eyes. There's a slight twinge in your heart and memories of lonely nights and scorching lungs come to your mind briefly before you shake your head to remove those thoughts.

"I…" you begin softly and with uncertainty, not ready to have that conversation yet. "Uhm, well, this time I just need to go because I need to feed my cat."

This time, he stares at you with interested eyes. "You have a cat?" he asks curiously.

"Yeah! He's super cute and cuddly, and he's - " you cut yourself off as you hear the noon siren go off, "And he's probably hungry!" 

He watches your panic in mild amusement before he grabs his keys and puts on his shoes. "Okay, let's go then."

"Huh?" you question as he grabs your hand, rendering your thoughts incoherent, before the two of you head out the door.

You're back at your apartment before you know it because you are still a little bewildered that he is still holding your hand. It's been 2 years since he held your hand, but you still feel the loud thumping of your heart and see the vividness of the colors around you. 

You are on autopilot as you open the door, and you are only brought out of your reverie when your roommate pokes her head out of her room.

"Oh my god, I swear if you brought another boy home to fuck him on my kitchen counter again, I. Will. Kill. You." 

"Oh my god, shut up! We're not fucking!" you can feel your face burn in embarrassment as Kenma raises an eyebrow at the statement. "And that was once! I deep cleaned the kitchen after!!"

Your roommate mumbles incomprehensible words as you kick off your shoes and pull Kenma into your room. When you open your door, you are greeted with a loud meow and Kenken's pudgy body.

You pick him up and rub your face against his. "My baby!!" you coo affectionately, "I missed you! I'm sorry I missed your breakfast!" 

You quickly put him down before you gesture for Kenma to take a seat on your bed and scoop out a half cup of cat food.

Your heart flutters when you turn to see Kenken purring softly as he sits on Kenma’s lap, paws tucked in, as Kenma pets him softly. You quickly unload the cat food into Kenken's red cat bowl and refill his water in the blue one, so you can snap a picture of this. Luckily for you, they are still in the same position as you take your phone out to capture this moment of the two most precious beings in your life.

"Here you go, baby," you murmur lovingly as you walk up to the pair and scratch Kenken's chin. 

Kenken quickly jumps off Kenma’s lap at the sight of his food. Suddenly, you feel a little embarrassed about your room as Kenma's eyes wander around. You're sure he sees the facedown photo frame with the photo of you two that you kept since high school on your bedside and the daffodils around your room, sees the nametag on your cat, that there are bits of him everywhere in your room.

"So," Kenma starts, voice teasing and light, "What's your cat's name?"

"... Don't worry about it. When did you become such a tease?" you mutter softly, eyes avoiding his as you reply.

You know him enough to know there's that glint of hilarity in his eyes because you know he knows you named your cat after him. You hate him, you think, as your face feels flushed from embarrassment.

He chuckles softly, and you don't realize how much you miss hearing his laugh until then. Your eyes soften at the sight because you miss this, you miss him. As if he realizes you're staring, he stops and looks at you.

"Why are you staring at me?" he wonders, an old habit of feeling self-conscious picking up.

"Because your laugh is cute," you smile at him, and when you see his pink cheeks, you laugh with mirth and twinkling eyes. "Because I miss you," you add on the second part softly, sounding almost afraid of saying it aloud. 

The room falls silent. Kenken, like his namesake, is always keen on your emotions, and when he feels your uncertainty, he nuzzles his head by your legs. You pick him up and settle him in your lap, absent-mindedly petting him. 

"I miss you too," Kenma admits, delicately but resolute.

"I'm sorry I left," you concede softly, "I think I was just… so set on love being like a swirl of passion and blaring fireworks that it choked me and tore me apart thinking I was the only one who felt that way."

He's silent, but his eyes are analytical and examining, and you know his mind is a bunch of clockworks going overtime right now. 

Taking this as a sign to proceed, you continue weakly, "I was so sure you didn't love me, so I ran. Because if I never hear it, then it'll never be confirmed."

He is never the one to initiate things, you think, but he surprises you as his hand finds a way into yours. He holds your hand and speaks slowly, as if he’s trying to think of the right words, "But you're here now."

You look up from your cat and into Kenma's golden eyes. You've always thought his eyes are pretty, but as you see the softness and affection in his eyes, you don’t think there can be anything more beautiful than this. You look at your intertwined hands, and you realize your heart is thumping softly and your lungs no longer burn, your head is clear of superfluous thoughts. At this moment, there's only him and you, and it's tender and timeless, and you think this may also be what love feels like. 

"Yeah," you smile as you squeeze his hand, "I'm here now."

He returns your smile and squeezes your hand back, and your heart quickens but you feel so at home. This is definitely also what love feels like. 

* * *

The days after come steadily. It’s a new routine, you think, as you begin dropping by his place more and more often. At first, you make excuses like his house is closer than yours from class or your roommate's boyfriend is over and you don't want to third-wheel them. You know he sees right through this so eventually you just settled on telling him, “Your place is bigger and your kotatsu is super comfy! And I brought you apple pie!” 

You know he's streaming sometimes when you drop by unannounced, so you text him on discord to open the door because you know that’s the only way he’ll see it. He sighs every time, and although he may not do it right away, he still pauses his stream for a moment to open the door with annoyance on his face but warmth in his eyes. 

On a day like this, after you did a short photoshoot in your little sister’s newest creation, you drop by his house. He isn’t streaming yet, so he opens the door with less annoyance on his face than usual. 

“Hi,” you greet him as you walk through the doors with dinner in one hand.

He lets out a noise in response, and you laugh playfully. 

“Go on,” you wave your hand to shoo him away, “I’m good. Go back to your game.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, and he heads back into his room. You hear the faint sounds of guns shooting and voice lines in the background as you begin taking off your makeup and undoing your hair. This background noise is kind of nice, you think, because it’s something you’re so used to, something that feels like home. 

When you spot the extra set of toiletries and your favorite body wash, shampoo, and conditioner in his shower, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. He does remember, you think to yourself, that your favorite flowers are daffodils, and you like the scent of spring. 

After you hop out of the shower, hair clean and messy, face bare and flawed, you grab a Bouncing Ball shirt from his closet and pull on his hoodie. You sniff it shyly like you’re almost too embarrassed to, but it smells just like him and it makes you feel so happy. 

Eventually, you settle in his kotatsu, as usual, before you pull out the novel you’ve been reading. You’re about three-fourths done, and you think by the time you’re finished, it’ll be a good time for dinner. 

Time always goes by faster when you’re reading, and as you finish the last word of your book, you close your eyes, wipe a quick tear away, and take a deep breath. You’re still so in awe and immersed in the world painted through words that you don’t notice Kenma’s golden eyes staring at you. 

When you finally begin to phase back into reality and realize you have an audience, you jump slightly in surprise. “Hi,” you say shyly. 

“Hi,” he responds, chin in his hand. 

“How long have you been here?” you whisper.

“Long enough to see you cry at the ending,” he teases.

You purse your lips in a pout before you ask, “How was your game?” 

He tells you about his game, and although you don’t understand all these exact terms, you understand enough by the light in his eyes and the scrunch of his face to know that he loves it although some parts annoy him. You hum along in agreement, and you think you can get used to nights like this. 

Soon, you heat up dinner, and as the two of you finish the apple pie for dessert, he shoves a key in your face. 

“So I don’t have to pause my streams anymore,” he says with a slightly teasing smile, eyes watching your reaction. 

You try to take it at face value, but it becomes harder to do when you see the mirth and amusement in his eyes when you take the key. You are twenty now, and you are aware that love doesn’t have to always be fireworks and passionate excitement. It exists like this too, easily, peacefully, serenely, like you can finally take off your disguise after a long day and ease into the comforts of his kotatsu and his arms.

“Okay,” you take the key and return his smile, feeling a rush of heat to your face and the tips of your ears, “I’ll just make myself at home then.”

“You act like you don’t waltz right into my home and make it yours already,” he rolls his eyes before he laughs. 

“Just like I did in your life?” you joke teasingly.

“Yeah,” he agrees, earnestly and affectionately, “Just like that.”

* * *

You haven't kissed him since the last time you tried in high school. If you're being honest, the thought of kissing him scares you shitless. You are scared of feeling the same tenseness in his body and the stillness of his lips again. You are scared of being rejected like that again despite all the progress you've made.

But he knows you, and he knows what you are thinking when your eyes unintentionally trail to his lips. He knows you want to kiss him, and to be honest, there's a soft look in his eyes that makes you think he wants to kiss you too. But you are scared to find out that you're wrong, so you just think of it as you don’t know if he feels the same. This uncertainty brings you back to being seventeen when you can only see the world in black and white, and you begin toying with the hem of his hoodie that’s more yours than his at this point. 

Still, you hate hiding anything from Kenma. It’s tiring, you think, for both of you because you’re constantly in a state of anxiousness, and he’s constantly in a state of overthinking. So you just tell him one day. 

"Kenma," you inhale softly, "I really want to kiss you.”

His hands don't leave his game, but his eyes are temporarily on you. “So, come here.” 

“The last time I tried to kiss you I ended up throwing up flowers for 2 years," you scoff softly, hands fidgeting. 

He stares at your fidgeting form and sighs before he pauses his game, arms open for you, before he repeats, “Come here.”

You go to him, steps a little hesitant at first, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that encourages and convinces you that it will not be like the last time. 

When he finally kisses you, you feel the soft pressure of his lips as he wraps his arms around you. You still feel the same electrifying shock in your body and soul, and this is everything you have ever dreamed of. You wonder if this is what it's like to finally be home.

* * *

It’s been a particularly bad day for you, you think, as you arrive at Kenma’s house. It’s not like there’s one specific thing that made it worse, but little things like your morning coffee spilling or getting small paper cuts all add up, and you’re just so tired by the end of the day. You hear the comforting sounds of Kenma’s video game in the background, and you’re glad to see him play his PS5 in his kotatsu. As soon he’s in sight, you beeline to him and bury your face in the crook of his neck as you wrap your arms around him. He tenses a little at first before he takes a hand and holds one of yours that’s wrapped around him and gently kisses the side of your temple, eyes never leaving the screen of his game.

“Bad day?” he asks softly.

You nod into his hoodie. “Just need to recharge.”

He gives a quiet okay as he continues his game. You realize he is streaming now, and you feel a little bad because you don’t want to be a disturbance on his stream. As you can feel the movement of his arms, vibrations of his voice, and the steady beat of his heart, it lulls you into a peace that only Kenma can and you close your eyes and breathe in his scent. 

Eventually, you nod off and wake only when Kenma moves to end his stream. After the stream ends, you can see the many eye emojis and questions regarding your appearance, and you feel a little bad. You know it’s not like Kenma is hiding you or anything, but he’s just not the type to make a big deal out of things. It’s not like the both of you ever really define what you guys are. Unlike when you were younger, you don’t care for the specifics because you can see the silent "I love you" in his eyes when he looks at you.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him, "Didn’t mean to barge in when you’re streaming.”

“It’s fine,” he reassures you before he asks, “Do you... want to be in my stream?” 

You pause for a moment, knowing that being introduced to his stream is like publicly announcing you’re someone important in his life, and that’s a little scary if you’re honest. “Okay,” you respond softly, “If you’ll have me.”

He nods, and the next morning, your phone blows up because Kodzuken posted a new picture on his social media. It’s a candid picture of you when you’re tucked in his kotatsu reading a book in his hoodie, hair and makeup messy, and eyes absorbed in the words in front of you. You don’t know when he took this picture, but somehow, you think you look a lot more beautiful in that picture than you see yourself as.

You couldn’t fight the skipping beats of your heart or the smile on your face when you see the caption. “my player two 🎮”

You two may not have defined lines of what you are, but when you see unflattering candid pictures of you on his three monitor screens and the ugly snapshot of you and your cat as his phone background that he always looks at fondly, when you feel the warmth of his body next to yours at night, when you can just be you in the comforts of his arms, you think this is enough, this is love, and this is home. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking for a place to rest, so I came all this way. I’m so thankful that it’s you, that my heart has found you.


End file.
